


First Aid And How Not To Do It

by American_Oddysey



Category: Madness Combat (Web Series), Madness: Project Nexus (Video Game)
Genre: All the time, Injury, especially at this man, hanks just mad, just because he has to go to this man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/American_Oddysey/pseuds/American_Oddysey
Summary: pretty sure. that you're not supposed to remove bullets. with tweezers.
Kudos: 10





	First Aid And How Not To Do It

The slam of the door easily snapped the cowboy back to sobriety. At least as sober as he could be at the brink of a hangover. He didn’t know what time it was and God damn, he was disoriented. It took him a few moments to register that he didn’t even live with anyone else that would warrant the door opening and closing without his input. Not since he changed the locks, at least. Maybe the Deputy had figured it out, but then again, that man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, so that was out of the question. The Sheriff massaged his temples, letting out a groan as he wrenched his eyes shut. The brunt of his alcohol induced coma was hitting him now, and everything hurt too much for him to even see who or what had entered his lacklustre abode. His options were the director or the Deputy, and the cowboy had used up the last of his “logical thought juice” to deduce that it couldn’t be the latter.

“ _Where is it?_ ” It was a question, but sounded more like a statement. An order. Had it not been such a familiar voice, the Sheriff would have thought it was the director himself.

And the Sheriff freezes, afraid to even look up. He does, anyways, and the voice wasn’t an auditory hallucination. It was visual, too, because there was no way, _no fucking way_ , that Hank would be here right now.

“Your apartment looks like shit.” The Hank-lucination says, his voice raspy. He was right, the apartment could have seen better days, and less empty Jack Daniel’s bottles. Hank was clutching his side and the Sheriff could see blood seeping through the grooves of his fingers. 

The Sheriff slowly reaches for his gun, making subtle enough movements so that Hank wouldn’t notice. No sudden movements, the mercenary couldn’t see him if he didn’t make any sudden movements. “… Where’s what…” The Sheriff felt the cold grip of his 45 Colt, and he takes hold of it.

“First aid kit…” Hank hisses through clenched teeth.

“Why…”

“You’re fucking ret-“

“I see that yer shot, jackass! I meant why here? Why would y’ come t’ me fer this?!” The Sheriff shoots, then winces. Yeah, probably wasn’t gonna do any more of that if the migraine wouldn’t go away. 

Hank goes quiet, and the Sheriff can feel that he was staring at the gun. The Sheriff raises it, slowly aiming it at Hank and taking the safety off. He couldn’t aim to save his life. Not fifteen years ago, and especially not now, with a less than optimal BAC and a glass eye to replace the one that the director had cut out. And Hank continues to stay silent. 

The Sheriff assumed while the mercenary was quiet, he was thinking of ways to use the cowboy’s own gun against him. Of course. And they sit there like this for a few moments, which almost feel like another fifteen years as the seconds tick by.

“… Because I know you won’t kill me,” Hank says after a bit, stepping forward, leaning his shoulder on the wall. His movements were slow, he’d probably lost a lot of blood, though with all the black clothing, it wasn’t like the Sheriff could tell. Besides, Hank usually had a lot of blood on him _regardless_ of whether he was hurt or not.

“Bet.” The Sheriff’s brow furrowed and he tries to muster up a scowl. Hank was right, though.

“Just fucking tell me where it is.” Hank says, tone becoming more aggressive.

“Why should I?”

“Do you _want_ me to bleed out on your kitchen floor, because I absolutely will.”

The Sheriff hesitates, then lowers the gun, switching the safety back on and tossing it on the coffee table to his side. “… Upstairs. Take a left, in the bathroom under the sink.” He relents. “There ain’t much for bandages in there, but-“

“Whatever.” Hank snarls, following the cowboy’s directions and slamming the bathroom door behind him. The latch didn’t work- the director’s doing- so the door just creaks back open due to the excessive force Hank had used.

The Sheriff cringes, his eyes lingering on the doorway before he tears his gaze away, looking at the ground. It didn’t really answer his question, what Hank had said. There were plenty of empty apartments around, and even more first aid kits just around in the MERC bases. Why here? Why him?

The Sheriff was torn from his thoughts as he hears Hank in the bathroom. Groans and grunts, clearly from pain. He’d heard it from him before. The cowboy gets up, stance a little wobbly, and practically pulls himself up the stairs, a white-knuckle grip on the railing. He glances into the cracked-open door, trying not to disturb the mercenary, lest that enrage him. And it probably would have, Hank seemed touchy, at least touchier than he was back when he’d broken past the wall surrounding the city. He was snarkier and more willing to fuck around. This one, however, was all business. Which was understandable, considering the mercenary was literally digging around inside his torso for a bullet. The Sheriff ducks away from the doorway. That wasn’t a pretty sight.

“I know you’re there, fucker.” Hank grumbles from behind the door. “What, gonna get off to my suffering?”

The Sheriff took a few more steps away. “D- do you need help…?”

“Do I fucking look like I need help, much less from someone who’s clearly smashed?”

“I-“

“Yeah, I know, you just want to help. I don’t need it, fuck off.” Hank was losing steam fast, though, feeling woozy without a good fraction of his blood. It didn’t hold as much bite to it.

“I think- I wouldn’t do much worse than you are right now.” The Sheriff reasons, “I… can at least try an’ slow the bleedin’ a lil’.”

Hank gives a grunt, then another, more forceful one as he fails to get the piece of metal out. “Fuckin’ tweezers… useless…” He says under his breath, though doesn’t try to argue with the Sheriff. Hank wasn’t the brightest, but he knew that he wasn’t in any position to turn down any help he could get.

The Sheriff pulls the door open a little more, peeking back inside. Hank didn’t have his mask pulled down, of course, so the cowboy couldn’t really judge how well the mercenary was doing. He shuffles in front of Hank, grabbing a hand towel, wetting it and moving Hank’s hands away from the wound that was clearly made worse by Hank fucking with it. He wipes away the blood from it and winces. It looked awful.

“Y’know ya probably should’a left this alone…” The Sheriff murmurs, wiping the wound a little more. Hank probably just contaminated it, too, the cowboy really didn’t think Hank had washed his hands before fucking with it.

“Lead poisoning-“

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot,” The Sheriff sighs, taking the blood-soaked tweezers from the mercenary’s hand and tossing it back into the kit haphazardly. “Y’ jus’ clean it as best y’ can. I don’t even think y’ know where exactly th’ thing is, anyways.”

“ _Lead poisoning._ ”

“It’s only one bullet, Hank. It ain’t gonna do anythin’ t’ ya.” At least nothing noticeable. Hank was already slow in the head as it was. “Yer jus’ doin’ more damage by diggin’ fer it. Jus’ gonna get it infected.”

Hank stays quiet. Probably because he felt fucking disgusting health-wise at this point in time.

“‘N yer gonna need stitches,” The Sheriff adds, getting a spray bottle of antiseptic. 

“... That isn’t gonna hurt is it?”  
“Th’ stitches or this?”

“That.” Hank points to the bottle in the Sheriff’s hand.

“... N… no.” The cowboy didn’t bother to bring anything up about how Hank was literally digging around inside of himself, which would be thousands of times more painful than this. 

“Kay.” Hank crosses his arms and leans back on the tank of the toilet, looking off to the side.

The Sheriff furrows his brow more, but gets back to work cleaning and dressing Hank’s wound. He didn’t really know why he was doing this. Hank had killed him. He had killed Hank (sort of). They should hate each other, but for some God damn reason, Hank showed up here, specifically, for medical supplies. Which the Sheriff was lacking in both the materials and expertise.

“Y’ ever gonna tell me why y’ came here…?” The Sheriff casts a glance up at the mercenary, who just scoffs.

“I explained myself enough.”

The Sheriff goes quiet again, taking out some gauze and pressing it gently to Hank’s wound.

“... I wanted to make sure that there were actual materials, and also a person to make sure I wouldn’t just fuckin’... conk out and die.” Hank says after a few moments of silence. “Not like dying is that huge of a deal, now, but…”

“Considerin’ ev’ry person I’m close to don’t stay dead… yeah. It don’t really mean much.” The Sheriff murmurs in agreement. “... I don’t see why y’ trust me, though.”

“Dunno. You’ve never managed to actually kill me, so I guess that’s a start.”

“What ‘bout yer friends?” The Sheriff ignored the borderline insult.

“They’re not with me,” Hank says glancing down at the Sheriff for the first time since the cowboy had started working on the guy. “And they’re not my friends.”

“Allies…?”

“I guess.” Hank shrugs. “Our goals just line up with one another’s. That’s about all it is. I fly solo, and you know that.”

“... Then why are you askin’ me fer help? You clearly got this by yourself.”

“Sheriff.”

“Hank.” The cowboy finished wrapping the medical tape around the mercenary’s torso, and was looking up at him, sitting on his feet. “... What are yer goals?”

“Destroy Nexus.”

“An’ why do you wanna do that?”

“You know why.”

“No, I know th’ stupid, ‘noble’ reason why yer friends want to destroy it, why do _you_ wanna destroy it? Because Lord knows you couldn’t give less of a shit about what happens to Nevada.” 

“Well,” Hank gives another shrug, and the Sheriff could practically hear the shit-eating grin in his voice, despite not being able to see it himself. “ _You know why._ ”


End file.
